


From Russia, With Love

by orphan_account



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Q, Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Russian Q, Slow Burn, Tattooed Q
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Theo broke into Bond's safe house - Bond broke into Theo's safe house. Bond shoots Theo's friend - Theo shoots Bond's friend. Theo changes his name, gets a job at MI6 to save his friends, flirts with people in Russian, becomes the entire hit list for any Russian killer, hitman or spy, and single-handedly takes down all that stand in his way - all before his first cup of Earl Grey. 
The bugger always had to one up him.
A slow burn fanfic that follows Theodore, then Crow, then Q's life as it becomes entangled with James Bond's, the spy that broke into the abandoned factory called Bird's Nest and forced him and his 'minions' to flee across the world. It was never going to be easy for Q to kill Bond. Especially when said special agent is so adamant about not dying.
*I pinky promise the fic isn't as shitty as the description*





	1. Один

“You’re kinda small, ain’t cha?” Theodore flinched slightly, glancing up at the source of the sound. She was tall, taller than him. Her clothes seemed relatively clean for one of a person residing in the back alley of a slaughterhouse in the middle of Russia. Pale grey eyes stared down at him, piercing and steely, dark flecks seeming to move amongst the lighter colour. The bomber jacket she was wearing had a smatter of dark crimson across the side, and Theo really didn’t want to think about that right now, especially considering the smell he’d been enduring the few days he’s been staying there.

“What’s it to you?” he replied defensively, his Russian accent similar to hers, and yet slightly softer. “You from Vanavara? They’re all pretty posh up there,” the other teen questioned, sliding down the wall next to Theodore, wrinkling her nose at the smell of him. Theo could see every individual hair of her eyelashes now, and saw how strangely her dark skin contrasted with her pale eyes. “Chemdalsk, so pretty close. Whereabouts-”

Before he’d even started the sentence, the girl had stood back up and begun to walk away from him, out of the alley and into the streets beyond it. Rolling his eyes, he turned his head down and pressed his thin maroon jacket closer to him. “Oi! Come on, I ain’t talking to cha if you smell like dead animals! I’m taking you to get a shower, and then you’re leavin’ this dump for good, m’kay?”

Theo chuckled softly, confused but very much with an aura of 'what the fuck do I have to lose now?', shifting up his smashed glasses and scrambling up, albeit, less gracefully than his new ‘friend’ had. “I’m Theodore, by the way. But I get Theo,” he added, once he’d caught up with the girl. “I’m Anna. How’d you end up in a dump like that, then?”

“You just head straight for the hard questions, don’t you?” Theo remarked, lengthening his stride to match Anna’s and ignoring the disdainful look he received from a well-dressed woman across the street. “Well, considering I have two guns on me, you don’t really have a choice in whether you tell me or not, Theodore,” Anna chirped, shooting him a wide smile. 

“It’s just Theo,” he replied, unfazed by the response - he’d noticed the pistols before Anna had even sat down. “And in short, I hacked the Russian government’s files, stole them and sent to the British MI6. Consequently, I’m a wanted criminal. I didn’t exactly expect them to figure out who I was, or to break into my college dorms, but shit happens. I'm sure you know that, though.”

Anna hummed quietly, making a sharp turn into an alleyway and through to the other side, where they emerged into the middle of a market. Shops bustling with people in massive coats and merchants trying to sell rock solid frozen fish lined the street. The taller, dark haired girl in front of him smiled sweetly at the traders, hurrying forward without checking if Theo was still following. 

Halfway down the street, she made another turn into an alley, which seemed almost invisible if you weren’t looking for it. At the very end of that alley, where a row of houses created a dead end, she cocked her head to the side and sighed with exasperation. 

“Righ’ then! You grab this knife and use all these cobbles to climb up to the roof. There should be a window at the middle or so. Use the knife and cut it away. It’s be’n rainin’ lately, so it shouldn’t be too hard, even for a tiny mite like you. There’s probably a shower and some clothes your size in there. Imma go see if I can find you some new glasses. Have fun!”

Anna was gone, racing down the street into the market again before Theo could even turn around. He groaned slightly, rubbing a hand over his eyes and tried to focus his vision on the cobbles in front of him. “How would she even know my prescription?” he murmured as he grabbed onto the first cobble. He’d done something like this before, but that was when he was 6 not 16, the walls were made foam not stone and he had a harness not broken glasses and a knife. 

Bracing himself, jumped up and dug his hand into a gap between the stone...and promptly fell right back down, into an unceremonious heap on the ground. Coughing slightly, he struggled back up and tried once more. And another time. And another. And then once more, before finally clinging on and making his way up, for about 7 foot and then dropping to the ground again.

By now, his entire body was bruised, but Theo simply grumbled and tried once more until he finally, finally, reached the top of the roof and collapsed upon it in exhaustion. The next part was relatively easy, and he managed to chip away the wooden frame without much bother. He wrenched open the window and dropped down into the room below, landing on his side. Pushing himself back up, he dusted off his clothing and glanced around at the attic. It was dusty and covered with weapon memorabilia and spiders.

Theo shuddered and clumsily made his way over to the door, halting when his hand touched the doorknob. Wincing at the sound it made, he opened the creaking door, shuffling forward and grinning in triumph when he arrived in the empty corridor in front of him. The floor, walls and ceiling were made of dark wood, and it was confusing to say the least when he reached the door of one room, which was also made, entirely of dark wood.

“Whoever lives here is a bit off in the brain, aren’t they,” he mumbled to himself, gingerly opening the door to..a bathroom, thank God. He scoured the room for a towel, ears pricked for any sound of movement downstairs. Out of fear of not hearing the front door opening downstairs, he showered as quickly as possible. Afterwards, he hurried to find another room, clad only in a bright pink towel to find some clothes that fit.

The wardrobe was small but barely filled. A few monochrome suit jackets, shirts, and trousers hung inside of it, leather shoes and boots piled up beneath. It was obvious before he even picked them up that they were miles larger than his gaunt frame. Next to them, however, hung pairs of skirts and women's jeans, a decorative shirt here and there - no jackets or coats. The couple living there must have been unfamiliar to the cold of Russia. 

Compromising on the clotes, Theo grabbed a plain white t-shirt and a pair of black denim jeans that hung loose around his hips, hoping to pull taut acroos muscle and fat that was not there. He donned his maroon jacket, sentimental despite himself, and pulled on a pair of surprisingly well-fitting combat boots. A glance in the mirror determined that he looked strange, considering he was wearing virtually nothing in the winter of Russia, but that he also didn't look like a homeless man (minus the starkness of his ribs through the shirt, and the dark, panda-like circles adorning his under eyes).

What he hadn’t planned for, however, was how the hell he would get out of the house. He was too short to reach the attic window again on his own, and there wasn't any guarantee he could get back down the cobbles anyways. Theodore was about to go back to the attic to judge the distance between the floor and roof to see if hee could possibly jump it, when a key in a lock stopped him in his tracks. He cursed in Russian under his breath, racing to the attic and shutting the door as quietly as possible, then looked frantically around the room. 

A three - legged table was balanced in the corner of the room between a hopefully fake rifle and broken bookcase. Without thinking about the noise, Theo began to drag the battered case towards the center of the room underneath the shattered window. Seconds later, before Theo had begun hauling himself up wooden frame, the attic door burst open, a towering giant of a man standing in the way.

Instinctively, remembering the way thugs around the slaughterhouse used to handle knives and how he’d tried to teach himself with a piece of glass, Theo whipped out the knife in his back pocket, holding it out in front of him defensively.

“Now, now. I’m not going to hurt you,” the man (he was English) said slowly, accentuating each word. Theo furrowed his brow for a moment, translating the English in his head, and hardened his glare. “Do you speak any English, boy?” The man, Meat-head as Theo had deemed him, took a step forward, reaching behind him for his phone. 

Slowly, as if not to spook the skinny boy in front of him, Meat-head dialled a number in his phone, pulling it to his ear. Straining to listen, Theo picked up a few words from the other line, including ‘how much has he seen?’ and 'if he doesn't tell you, shoot'. Translating it as quickly as possible, Theo took a step behind, his back hitting the bookcase.  
Meat-head’s ice-blue eyes darted up and he muttered something into his phone, smiling at the terrified teenager. He took a few more steps forward, saying something Theo barely understand through his haze of fear, frowning when he shifted out of the way of the bookcase and moved back as well. “If only you had cooperated..you would have made a lovely agent,” Meat-head chided, and faster than Theo could follow with his eyes, he pointed and cocked a gun, shooting it straight at Theo’s head.

Wood flew everywhere, the bullet lodging itself in the wall where Theodore had been standing seconds ago. Grunting at the recoil, Meat-head glanced around, seeing the bookcase lying on it’s side and up at the window to notice the soles of combat boots disappearing outside onto the roof. He ran a hand through his blonde hair in exasperation. It took him less than 30 seconds to jump up to the window, grasp the sides and effortlessly pull himself up and plant his feet firmly on the roof. 

By then, Theo had somehow managed to half scale, half fall down the wall again, his palms bleeding and the knees of his stolen jeans muddied, and ran down the alleyway into the marketplace. He flew into someone, stuttering out an apology, and gasping when Anna pulled him back. She looked puzzled for a moment, but Theodore ignored the expression, pushing her forward and muttering that he’s explain later.

Whilst they were careening through the street, Theo sprinted past a stall selling jumpers and the like, tearing up a dark sweater when he ran past, stripping his own jacket while he was still running. “He saw my jacket, so I figured I’d change it,” he quickly explained to Anna, who dragged him through multiple small alleyways, and then collapsing against the wall when she was certain she’d lost whoever was following them. 

“You gonna explain why we were running away from someone? Or do I just gotta guess?” she panted, handing him a white medical packet containing a pair of glasses. He nodded his thanks, sliding them on after realising that he’d lost his old pair in the scuffle at the attic. 

“So, I broke into his house. Which is never a good start, but anyways, I took a shower, stole his clothes and turns out the man’s got some sort of weapon and wood fetish. And he tried to shoot me. At this point in time, I’m honestly regretting hacking our government..”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the best option for a 16 year old who’s barely surviving college as it is. You should still be in high school, y’know.” Anna retorted, chuckling slightly as her adrenaline died down. 

“So. We’re both classed as fugitives, I suppose. I have no friends or family, no one to turn to in this great time of need,” Theo motioned dramatically, still shaky from fear, grinning sheepishly up at Anna. “I had a job offer in Finland. Before they y’know, tried to blow me up.”

Anna glanced down at him, ever the skeptic. “Why are you telling me this?” Theo laughed softly, staring up at her. “Surely a smart girl like you can figure that out? And maybe if you do figure it out, you can pretend you've killed me, and collect the money you were promised.”

"I knew I didn't make a mistake with you, Theodore Newman."

They left for Finland the next day.


	2. Два

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crow hadn’t been in England for more than a few days for the 3 years he had been on the run with an older accomplice. M hadn’t thought much of it until Q had notified her of the firewalls being renovated, improved from the outside, with short, snarky messages after each upgrade. M’s personal favourite was ‘You guys are a bunch of fucking idiots, aren’t you?’ in Morse code.

Crow’s hands were twitching again. He hadn’t had caffeine for a week unless you counted the bitter, sugarless coffee he’d scavenged from a man in a coffee shop who was oblivious to everything but his phone. Crow could relate. 

He clenched his fists slightly, the tendons in his neck pulling tight when he chewed harshly on his bottom lip. The passenger next to him shuffled away, seeming eager to leave the company of the unshowered, greasy-haired boy next to him, as well as the other three children who appeared more likely to murder him in his sleep than invite him into his home for tea. 

The train pulled to a halt and the man in question swallowed thickly and bent down to pick up his briefcase. Before he’d even brushed the handle of it, Falcon swooped in and grabbed it in scab-covered fingers, handing it to the startled office worker in front of him with a fake smile. “Have a nice day, sir,” he smirked, hand inching a bit too far up the man’s suit for his liking. He shot a foul look over his shoulder as he departed, featured twisted into an unpleasant mask. Falcon leant back into his seat, glancing over the wristwatch he’d taken, then handing it to Hawk, who discreetly hid it inside her shirt. Crow still wasn’t sure how she managed it. To be honest, he didn’t exactly want to. 

Falcon gave him a pointed look, tone acidic when he spoke again. “Where are you even taking us? Do you know anything about this area?” His voice held a distinctive Southern accent, which Crow didn’t recognise, but interested him nonetheless.

“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear when I pulled you and your brother’s half-dead bodies out of the River Tay. Hawk and I have never been to England, but we know an awful lot about living in back alleys and crack houses. Sure, you’ve lived here your entire lives, but you’re also presumed dead by local authorities in Scotland and the safest place for you right now is with us, or with them. Take your pick,” he finished venomously, English near perfect, pronunciation included. No-one could have guessed he was Russian. He’d made sure of that.

The younger boy across from him narrowed his eyes, darkening the green with anger and puckering his brow. Crow sat back, eyeing the teen as his nostrils flared slightly before he plastered a smile on his face. “Of course.”

Sparrow fidgeted next to Hawk, drawing away Crow’s attention. He glanced towards Sparrow, who’s breathing immediately quickened when he felt Crow’s gaze. Shaking his dark, ashy blonde hair out of his eyes, he blinked dolefully up at him. The corner of Crow’s mouth quirked up at the defiance displayed from Falcon when his brother smiled hesitantly at him, opening his mouth to say something. The train screeched loudly when it began moving out of the station and Sparrow’s mouth snapped shut, flinching at the sound. Hawk pressed a comforting hand to his shoulder, and stared out of the window, sighing as she watched miles of countryside blur past. 

Greens and yellows faded to steely grey buildings and terracotta bricks, and that’s when Crow saw the structure in amongst the sparse trees. It was a factory, battered and seemingly abandoned considering the dismantled building equipment and long support poles lying haphazardly across the entrance. Hawk glanced up at it too as the train slowed once more, excitement pouring out of her like sunshine through white linen.

“It could be a sanctuary, of sorts. I imagine it would have enough wood and metal to make bed frames, chairs, tables. We can steal other things, like food and water, but...we can’t steal a home. Maybe God is in our favour,” she whispered in fluent Russian, stepping closer to him. Sparrow looked up expectantly as several people trudged off the carriage, a throng of unidentifiable, unfamiliar faces. “Are we getting off the train?”

“I..I’m not sure. I don’t know, Hawk, there’s always the possibility that-Hawk!” Crow bolted up, Falcon and Sparrow sharing a confused glance, then scurried after them, slipping past disgruntled men and women in varying shades of grey or blue suits. The station itself was bustling with people, but it took no longer than a few seconds to find their guardians. Crow’s dark hair bobbed through the crowd behind Hawk, stuck behind two unmoving blonde women deep in a conversation that probably wouldn’t stop for a scruffy, bespectacled 19-year-old. He dodged around them, barely noticing when the two brothers fell in step next to him.  
"Hawk!" he yelled out again, lengthening his stride. Hawk's tall frame disappeared for a moment, and Crow paused, turning in a circle as he tried to find his friend. She barged past an old man in his fifties, tugging at the dark canvas of Crow's jacket. He jumped slightly, spinning around to face her, eyes blazing. 

"What the hell were you thinking? For one, we almost lost Falcon and Sparrow! And for another, you can't even be sure we can live there - I don't even know if it's safe. Or if it's actually abandoned. We don't want any more trouble with the government and our faces are already on a wanted list in Russia," he scolded, speaking, as he always did, his native tongue to his companion. 

"Look, I'm sorry, okay? But we don't have much of a choice! We haven't had any proper shelter for weeks and now we have those two to take care of? We can't afford to live in alleyways or sleep behind dumpsters. We try the factory, we see if we can sort out the inside into suitable living conditions and then... I don't know what else then. We just keep surviving until Russia gets tired of trying to find us,” she reasoned, her voice cracking and desperate. Crow glared for a second, but nodded stiffly and glanced back at Falcon and his brother. “We think we found somewhere to stay. For a while, at least.”

\--

It didn’t take much effort to wait out in the train station, selling the wristwatch to a pawn shop not far away. Falcon came back with enough to buy them all a decent meal of rubbery chicken and grey lettuce sandwiches with out of date crisps and bruised apples. Once the streetlights had been turned on outside, the station was all but deserted, owners of the shops that lined the terminal. A beefy man with a straw like moustache gave them all a disgusted look, curling his lip and shaking his head as he closed up his shop, making sure to tighten the lock. Another hour passed, then another, until finally, they were the only people there.  
Slipping out of the shadows, the raced along the edge of the concrete, bypassing the large signs stating a fee for all trespassers, and dropping down onto the track. The factory itself was on the other side of a metal fence, but they skulked along the barricade, eventually finding a hole clawed out of the side. 

They slid through, Crow’s muscles tensing once they reached the edge of the graffitied factory. The windows were tiny, and most of them were smashed, broken glass littering the dead grass underfoot. Hawk threw caution to the wind, bounding up to the structure and disappearing from sight around the side. Crow followed hesitantly.  
Her dark, lithe form blended into the night, so Crow could barely see where he was walking. “So them, Mr Newman...care to explore?” she asked, glancing behind at Crow with a coy grin.  
I’m going to regret this, Crow thought to himself.

\--

He didn’t end up regretting the decision.

Three months from when they had essentially trespassed and stole the factory, they’d moved the broken glass and fallen support beams from the ground floor, and had, to the best of their ability cleared out the top floor (which was, in short, rooms filled with newly stolen computers and technology, and a large amount of metal staircases leading to said rooms). 

Crow slept there, surrounded by wires, with Hawk in the adjoining room. Falcon and his brother lay beneath, on sofas and cushions from nearby houses or ‘yard sales’. Stolen, of course. He and Falcon seemed to have reached a mutual affection for one another, allowing themselves to relax around each other - Crow no longer traded insults with his younger companion, instead calling the boy his friend (not that they’d ever admit that).

After the first month, Hawk found a job at a local primary school. Crow forged her credentials, wary at first before Hawk began coming back with a natural smile plastered across her face as oppose to a fake one.

Falcon, although incredibly inexperienced and seemingly innocent, smuggled a tattoo machine and ink whilst Crow and Falcon busy a few shops down, shoplifting medicines and bed sheets. He took up the hobby in between learning Maths, English and Science - Hawk thought it inappropriate to leave him with only a Year 4 education. As it turned out, within a year, he was regularly inking his work onto Crow’s flesh, birds of prey, flowers and abstract patterns decorating his milky white flesh. He particularly favoured the metal sunflowers curled over the nape of Crow’s neck, and the sparrow, his namesake, adorning his calf. 

Within half a year of thieving and then vanishing into thin air, the four had acquired a name with the local police - the Birds. Homeless youngsters and ancient beggars alike came from all over London to seek refuge in Bird’s Nest, some for a few nights, others for the entire time the factory was still inhabited. 

Hawk taught the youngest English and Maths, whilst Crow took time out of hacking and accumulating large sums of money by selling government secrets (none British, of course. He had no reason to be loyal to the country, but he would indefinitely be tracked down if he even glanced over at MI’s files; he had. Many times. The firewalls were disgraceful) and participating in cyber warfare, to teach the older teens self defence. He was still short and seemingly only a young boffin without his lab coat, but under baggy, black shirts hid toned muscles and one too many scars from alley-way muggings (he wasn’t always the victim nowadays).  
Despite his best efforts - alright, perhaps he had intentionally left some trails to see if MI6’s Quartermaster could pick them up - Crow was not off the radar. 

In truth, M had been notified of the young computer talent as he made his way across the world. He hadn’t been in England for more than a few days for the 3 years he had been on the run with an older accomplice. She hadn’t thought much of it until Q had notified her of the firewalls being renovated, improved from the outside, with short, snarky messages after each upgrade. M’s personal favourite was ‘You guys are a bunch of fucking idiots, aren’t you?’ in Morse code. 

And because M knew about Crow, so did a large amount of MI6. It was Moneypenny, surprisingly enough, who recommended that she try to communicate with Crow, not long after she quit field work. The uneasy tension in Headquarters would die down once the threat was dealt with.

Unsurprisingly, it was Crow who communicated first. Even all of Q Branch couldn’t hack past his defences. M liked the teen immediately - she very quickly became reluctant to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :)) If you have any suggestions for later chapters or something you wanna say, don't hesitate to comment :D


	3. Tри

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M was shouting over the computer, her breaths anxious and unsteady. “Theodore! What’s going on? I can’t see you-” her voice stopped when she saw Crow’s face again, his mask around his neck, his entire, terrified face visible.  
> “If my people die, their blood is on your hands, do you understand?"

The room was deathly quiet. 009 stood at the front, his stance wide and foreboding. His black eyes gleamed in the synthetic lights above them, alight with malicious intent.

“I’m sure you all know why you’re here. You all have a very specific skill set, of which I am very grateful to have acquired. You will need to use your skills - M is in danger from an outside force, and so MI6 and everyone in this room is also in danger,” his silky smooth voice drifted across the room that was underground, below even the deepest levels of Q Branch, damp and dirty from lack of use. 

Bond’s shoulder twinged with phantom pain as he raised his hand, earning a frustrated glare from 009 when he stared on at the ‘leader’ condescendingly. Sensing that he shouldn’t lose the favour of the intimidated techs at the front, 009 lips twisted up reluctantly, nodding for James to speak.

“Which outside force is this?” As concerned as he was for M’s safety, mental or otherwise, he wasn’t about to take such a huge risk without some evidence. Furrowing his brow, 009 turned to the desk behind him, tapping away at the computer - it was slow progress. After an impossibly long amount of time, he turned back around, the projector above their heads shining a grainy image of London on the wall. Several streets were marked in red, a large circle around Maidenhead Train Station. 

009 surveyed the room for a few moments, before a young IT tech from Q Branch tentatively put up her hand. “S-sorry, sir, but I- I mean, I don’t quite understand what, sorry, why you’re showing us a map of London, sir,” she stuttered, an Irish accent thick beneath her anxiety. 009 smiled at her, in a way that reminded Bond of a vulture searching for carrion, and pointed to the red circle. 

“This is where our target resides. It’s been dubbed Bird’s Nest by local police. The leader - and yes, he is our target - is supposedly called Crow. We can safely assume that is a code name, but my sources have no other leads on his other than that he is originally from Russia and there is a large price on his head.”  
The image on the wall switched to a security camera footage of a young man with his face half covered in a skeleton mask, his body slender, but hidden beneath layers of dark clothing. He had dark, messy hair, and a blur of paleness for the skin of his face that was showing.

“As you can see, the image depicts him going into an abandoned factory by Maidenhead Station. The police know of this place, but they have specific orders from MI6, M, to not harm Crow or any of his accomplices. One of which-”

It changes again, this time for a higher quality picture - seemingly a school ID - of a dark skinned girl, with piercing grey eyes. Bond was slightly unnerved by her sharp gaze, but vaguely respectful of her strong shoulders and fierce expression.

“-goes by the name of Hawk. She’s also originally Russian, a trained killer. Her parents were a part of the SVR but were killed a few years ago. She was taken in by a person by the name of Снег who trained her as a hitman: her last recorded mission before she went off the grid was to kill Crow. We don’t know why, and we still don’t know many other details of the mission apart from that.”

009 spins on his heel, facing the group of around 20 people. A large amount of them were there willingly: 009 was renowned in the 00 section for his violent nature, but also for his large sums of money. The others, those there either because they were curious or had been intimidated into coming (those were usually the IT techs, scrawny things with minimal knowledge of the field agents of MI6 that they hadn’t handled. And that was an even smaller than their outside knowledge - Q was adamant that his boffins weren’t to be terrified to tears by adrenaline-full, impatient agents). 

“This next bit may be hard to handle. I have a video of a conversation between Crow and M: she seems quite happy to talk to this man, but I assure you, she has the wrong impression. He is a dangerous person.”

The projection flickered for a moment before a pixelated image of two people came on screen. One, obviously, was of M, her eyes soft as she stared at the other person - he was bespectacled, a pair of rectangular, thin-framed glasses perched upon his nose. His cheeks were flushed with pink, bones pressing stark against the blushing flesh. The skeleton mask was fraying and pulled down slightly more than the last image. His neck was visible beneath the mask, pale and smooth. 

His shirt was plain white, long on the man, though the youngster could barely be called that. Bond was only 32, but he suddenly felt much older gazing at the teen. The feeling dissipated as soon as Bond glanced down at the boy’s arms, which were covered in ink and markings, a bird with feathers dark as coal adorning his left bicep, flowers, and animals down the left side, metal creatures and depictions of wires on the right. James could just pick up more hints of tattoos under the man’s plain shirt. 

“You have outdated firewalls. I would explain them to you, but I’m afraid us techies seem to speak another language,” the boy onscreen laughed, his voice rough with sleep, but deep and pleasant to listen to. His mask shifted when he moved his lips, and Crow pulled it up instinctively.

"And what other languages do 'you techies' speak? And might I inquire what ring you're wearing? It seems almost familiar,” the projection of M smiled, her expression genuine. Her shoulders were relaxed, tension vanishing from her weary bones the more Crow talked. It did seem off for his usually pent-up boss, James decided. 

“Me? Well, English, obviously. Russian too, because I spent my first 16 years there. I know some Polish, and some Norwegian. Just enough to get me through the cities. I know French and Spanish because of my high school and uni courses. And then I started learning German a few month after I set up in England. And the ring just shows our ranks at Bird's Nest. I've got one that says десять. Means 10.”

M’s smile didn’t falter when the young man was talking, his hand always quickly going up to his face to touch at his mask. It blurred across the screen, so Bond couldn’t decipher the tattoo across his left hand. He thought he saw an octopus’ dark tentacles curling around bony, skeletal fingers, but he couldn’t be sure. 

“You don’t have to keep touching your mask, you know. This conversation isn’t recorded, and it isn’t as if I can do much with just your face,” M spoke, gesturing to her own face as she spoke. Crow’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, his hand twitching on the way up to his mask once again. He set it down slowly, the black and white now covering his flushed cheeks and the top of his nose, almost brushing against his glasses. Green-grey eyes blinked quickly before Crow spoke again. 

“Maybe I will show you. One day. Once I’m sure I can trust you…”  
“I look forward to that day. Crow-”

M’s voice cut out when 009 paused the video again. He glanced over at each person in triumph, muscular arms crossed over his puffed out chest. “You must understand what I mean now? This man is clearly manipulating M - she’s easily relaxed after a few conversations with him, plus, he’s promised her a glimpse of his own face, information that, despite what M says, can easily be used to turn into the Russian Secret Service and have him eradicated. But M won’t give the order for that, not now Crow has her in his grasp. This is our game plan-”

\--

Crow chuckled softly, his grin evident under his mask. Olivia Mansfield smiled with him, elbows resting on the desk in front of her. It was past 11 at night, so she had begun their conversation later than usual, in her own home. The kitchen was mainly marble, with mason jars full of coffee beans, tea bags, and other miscellaneous foods on the benches. It seemed quite welcoming. 

“The man never bloody listens to me, Theo! It’s like talking to a brick wall sometimes, but who can blame him? I don’t exactly look like the most foreboding person in the industry, do I? And I’m sure you can compare, considering how many government officials you’ve seen,” she remarked, telling another one of her tales of the infamous 007. 

He hadn’t planned on telling her his real name, to be perfectly honest. It just slipped out a few weeks ago, but Crow couldn’t say he was unhappy with the development. To hear his real name, from someone’s lips that weren’t his own (or, occasionally, Hawk’s) was refreshing. One could only deal with a code name for so long before they began to go crazy with the lack of identity. 

Everything changed very suddenly then. One moment there was nothing but the soft vocals of Mansfield, his own breathing and the shuffling of feet downstairs. The next, there was a deafening blast of gunshots, screams of terror and the sound of hurried footsteps on metal stairs. Hawk burst through the door just as Crow was springing into action, gathering a duffel bag full of scraps of paper for machines and technology he was itching to make if he had the supplies, and unplugging wires as fast as he possibly could. 

M was shouting over the computer, her breaths anxious and unsteady. “Theodore! What’s going on? I can’t see you-” her voice stopped when she saw Crow’s face again, his mask around his neck, his entire, terrified face visible. 

“If my people die, their blood is on your hands, do you understand?"

\--

M's features banish from the computer screen when Crow pulls at the last wires. Hawk's Russian was garbled, but he understood the message clear enough. "Who was that? On your screen?" she asked, helping him with another, smaller backpack. 

Crow felt tears prick at his eyes, but he willed them away, angry at the betrayal. "Just someone I thought I could trust...the tunnels, Hawk, the old train tracks: get them open now. Our main doors are electronic, it could take a while before they're in. You think that they're MI6?"

Hawk yelled an answer back over her shoulder, already sprinting down the stairs to work at the tunnel entrance. They'd discovered it a few year ago, and spent over a week fitting a concrete door in place instead of rubble. The tunnel itself lead to a station in Watford that was never finished and was closed off to the public in the 90s. Only Crow had ever been down to check out the tunnels and came back with a broken wrist after the ceiling caved in on him. 

Screeching sounds of concrete on metal panels alerted Crow that Hawk had the tunnels open. The screaming died down slightly to hear her frantic voice, accent thick with her panic. A racing of footsteps sounded and then curses in at least 20 languages. Crow ignored them in favour of shutting down the programs on his multiple (it really was quite excessive) laptops and placing them in his bag, pulling up his mask as he worked. He glanced over at his Glock, chewing his lip thoughtfully, before grabbing it and racing out of his room. 

The doors burst open just as he was leaping down the stairs. Three older refugees were still out in the open; one went down immediately, not a cry passing his lips as the bullet went through his skull. Without hesitation, Crow fired at the young agent who had attacked the boy, hitting his target without having to try. 

Two people from the outside force screamed, falling to the ground to cover their head. Crow didn't bother to shoot them, aiming at the legs of the other agents. Hawk was shouting again, but Crow couldn't hear through the thumping in his head. One of the men raced up to him with a dagger, knocking him to the ground. Crow cried out, a sickening pop cutting through the haze in his brain. He lashed out earning a smear of blood over his bare arms, allowing himself a second to wonder where the other gunshots had gone, before shooting to kill. 

The man's body rolled off him and Crow launched to his feet, flinching for a moment when he saw another man, this one taller, stronger, with cold, calculating eyes staring at him, seemingly transfixed by the birds and wires decorating his arms. Crow sensed a flash of recognition within him, breaking suddenly out of the moment when a spray of dust clouded the side of his face from a runaway bullet. 

One of the men from the agency that had come to kill them was still alive, kicking and grunting as one of Crow's own hits him over and over again. Five others lay dead around them, thanks to Crow and Hawk's careful aim. Crow's stuck in the middle, knowing he's outnumbered and knowing Hawk cannot help him from her place at the tunnel entrance. She cursed at him again, just as the blond man he thinks he recognises lifted his gun once more. 

Spinning on his heel, he races to the tunnel entrance, the concrete door slamming shut just as he gets through. They're off then, leaving no time to grieve for their fallen comrade, sprinting down the tunnel until they can the sounds of quiet talking, after what seems like a lifetime of silence and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the response you guys have already given! I'm glad some people who read this before want to keep reading it :)) If you have any suggestions, queries, or comments, don't hesitate to ask


	4. четыре

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly was not looking forward to doing this chapter because it's a filler chapter and it's boring af, so I sped through it, and it's not too detailed. 
> 
> Also, the timeline is jacked up, but I think the story flows better this way. I hope you guys don't mind

“Crow?” It was Falcon that he heard first, the teen running up to meet him, sporting a blooming mark across his left eye. The rest of Bird’s Nest lay in defeated heaps on the station, some with a few scrapes, others looking a lot worse for wear. A young man, a drop out from med school was tending to them, wrapping dirty bandages around their bruised, sometimes broken fingers with the aid kit he scavenged before they fled. Crow thought his name might be Blackbird. 

He was broken out of his thoughts when long, thin arms wrapped around his neck. Startling slightly, Crow flinched away from the touch, looking up quickly, his eyes focusing on Sparrow first, who had edged away from him now, frowning apologetically. 

Crow swallowed thickly, suddenly aware of how much Falcon and Sparrow had grown, not only physically, but mentally as well. He choked out, “I’m so sorry,” before enveloping Sparrow in a hug. The younger boy wrapped his arms around him again, so gentle and understanding for someone only eighteen, and if anything, his comfort made Crow sob harder. 

“You’re already taller than me, y’know?” Crow glanced up at Sparrow through tear-laced lashes, licking at moisture from his dry, cracked lips. Sparrow nodded, smiling softly. “We’re okay, no one’s too hurt. You got us out, Crow,” he murmured, tone sympathetic. 

“B-but, I did this, I lead them here….I thought I trusted her, but she-” Crow’s voice was thick with emotion, stuttery and nervous. He fought to breathe, vision blurring, his heartbeat loud, thumping against his temples. This time, it was Falcon who stopped his speech, his arm wrapped around Crow’s bony waist and a pointed look down at his tear-streaked face. “Look at me, alright? You’re having a panic attack. You need to calm down, and you need sleep.”

Crow shook his head again, choking out Hawk’s name, a question, before being shushed for the third time. Falcon lifted him into his arms, and he was grateful, unsure if his shaking legs would have supported him much longer. With an arm wrapped safely around his knees and back, Falcon scanned the platform, searching for space away from the other Birds.

Fisting his long fingers into Falcon’s shirt, Crow hid his face, still shaking. The Birds looked on at their leader, unashamed of him, shocked, hurt, defeated, but never once doubting Crow; they had undying loyalty to him, respecting that even he had weaknesses. 

Falcon slid down the far wall of the station, cradling Crow in his muscular grip, plucking off his glasses quickly before Crow could complain. Sparrow sat next to him, legs giving out with exhaustion. Crow kept his head buried into Falcon’s neck, breathing in his scent, reminding himself that they were safe, everyone was safe. He reached a hand out blindly to Sparrow, and the younger man took it allowing Crow’s long legs to uncurl from Falcon’s arms and fall into his lap. 

“Theodore.” Falcon glanced down, puzzled. The older man, who looked so young with tear-stained cheeks and shaking hands, swallowed thickly before opening his mouth again, wetting his lips anxiously. “My r-real name. I get Theo though. J-just Theo.” 

“Theo,” Sparrow mumbled adoringly, running a hand down his flank, comforting him. Theo let out a choked, shuddering breath, a sharp whine of discomfort escaping his lips when Sparrow made a move to stand. He grabbed at the teen’s arm, his grip loose, but Sparrow allowed himself to be pulled down again anyways. “It’s alright, love,” he whispered, stroking the side of Theodore’s face, pressing a small kiss to his forehead. “I’m just going to get a blanket for you, so you can sleep, okay?”

Sure enough, Blackbird was walking around the station, handing out slightly muddy, but otherwise good quality blankets and sheets. Theo vaguely remembered stealing them with another Bird called Thrush as an emergency supply. He supposed this was as much as an emergency that there could be. Nodding slowly, he released Sparrow’s arm, watching nervously as the man five years his younger aged tremendously in one fell swoop, because of the life of the life he now lead, because of the life Theo had made him lead. He couldn’t recognise the small, timid boy he and Hawk had first rescued. 

“He’s Simon. I remember he hated the name when he was younger. Sparrow had really grown on him, but I think he misses his old name. Misses having an identity,” Falcon spoke softly, nudging Theo’s ear with his lips, pressing small kisses there. It wasn’t romantic, just small contacts, his hands never straying to anywhere that would seem something other than platonic, something that Theo didn’t even know he needed. 

He tilted his head up again, his expression one that said ‘and what about you? What’s your name?’. Falcon smiled pressing another kiss to the corner of Theodore’s eye. “Connor.”

“C-can I… Can I call y-you Connor?” his speech was still quiet and littered with pauses and twitches, Theo still anxious and on edge despite himself. “Of course, love,” he said, the pet name spreading warmth through his chest. He was about to ask another question when suddenly there was an explosion of a gunshot. 

Theo bolted up, out of Falcon’s arms, on the verge of screaming. He let out a choked gasp when someone’s arms wrapped around him, spinning his body to face them. Theo saw Simon’s flushed face and the grey blanket that lay forgotten on the ground before he threw his arms around Simon’s neck, almost toppling the taller man over. 

“Shh, it’s fine, sweetheart, nothing’s here, nothing’s going to hurt you. Hawk’s gun went off, that’s all, no one is here who shouldn’t be,” he soothed, rubbing up and down Theo’s back, patiently waiting for him to calm down. Simon kicked the blanket over to his brother, a movement that made Theodore startle suddenly. 

Quieting him again, Simon walked him backwards, before turning around and pulling them both to the floor, sitting himself slightly in his brother’s lap, and Theo across his own. The blanket was thrown over them, both of Connor’s hands carding gently through his chocolate curls, shooting a death glare at a young Bird who was naive enough to watch. 

“Sleep now, okay sweetheart?” Simon said, and Theo’s exhaustion rolled over him suddenly in waves. The day had weakened and confused him, from the leap in intimacy (they had done things like cuddling before, but never to this extent; Theo assumed they were experiencing an emotional imbalance) between himself, Simon and Connor and then the gunshots and death in Bird’s Nest. 

His eyes fluttered shut, the hand fisted in Simon’s t-shirt growing looser as the two brothers stroked comfortingly over his sides and through his hair. Theo didn’t want their hands to stop, and they didn’t, running across Theo’s body until he finally fell asleep. 

\--

The consistent beeping of the heart monitor roused Bond from his sleep. A prick in his shoulder grew into a full blown burn as he tried to sit up, the IV in his foreman stinging painfully. His head ached. 

“You’re awake then.” Bond glanced over to see M, wincing slightly at the sight of Medical and sharp blues and whites behind her. The woman in question looked furious, her eyebrows furrowed, forehead wrinkled into harsh lines. 

“What the hell were you thinking? You’ve only just barely been cleared for duty, and certainly not for any missions; if you could call this a mission. What shit did 009 try to tell you this time then?” Her voice was strained, but barely so. Having worked with the women for so long, Bond had picked up on her tells.

“He said Crow was manipulating you. That he was a dangerous person,” he answered, fully aware that his story seemed falsified, stupid even to his own ears. He winced slightly when he dragged his arm forward to pull at his paper, sickly blue gown, his shoulder twitching. 

“He was far from manipulating me, Bond. If anything, it was me manipulating him. He would have been a valuable asset to Q-Branch, and I would be very proud to have him with us,” M retorted, swallowing thickly through her sudden outburst of emotion. 

“What do you mean? We didn’t kill him, he wasn’t hurt the last time I saw him,” Bond interrupted, frustrated at himself for what he’d put the young man through. M laughed humorlessly. “Do you seriously think he’s going to trust me after what he thinks I did? No; what I did do. I let my guard down, I let our conversation be recorded, I put him in danger. He won’t come back - I asked him, only a few days ago, if he would ever consider a job at MI6. He said he would think about it.

“It’s strange, but I was the most excited I had been for years. But he won’t come back, not now. I’m not quite sure what he will do. Perhaps return to Russia. Or Germany, he always said he liked the idea of living there. He was like my son, Bond, and I betrayed him.”

There was a heavy silence between the two aged figures, M’s shoulders dipped with the weights of her depression and guilt, the strong figure Bond knew erased by a boy she had only known for a few month. He’d climbed over her walls. 

“What’s happening with 009? Where is he?” Bond asked, half out of curiosity, half to break the tension, the only other sound nurses milling about outside the room. M arched an eyebrow, but Bond corrected her with a look. It was an unspoken ‘don’t think I care about that man one bit,’ that both spies seemed to understand.

“After quite a long argument, and several thinly veiled threats - a lot of them were incredibly melodramatic - I’ve fired him. His record says dishonorable discharge if you must know. R didn’t particularly like it when you went through her records.” 

Bond lay back on his bed whilst M talked, just barely there, the morphine in his bloodstream working it’s magic so he was on the cusp of sleep, the recognition that he wouldn’t remember what she was saying. The strong woman he knew broke down over and over, explaining that he was the only agent left who knew her properly, who she admired - loved, even - and how she couldn’t bear to let him go. 

She talked a lot of Crow, as well. Bond finally toppled over the edge of consciousness and slumber, a name, a string of letters he couldn’t quite remember swirling around his head; Theo.


	5. пять

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On one hand, he did need a job and M would be able to clear their names and give them homes. On the other hand, he didn't want any part of the espionage world. And on another hand coming out of God knows where, he despised the idea of working so closely with M after her betrayal.

Theo's sight was blurry and out of focus when he blinked his eyes open; the sound of other Birds rousing and the quiet chatter between them had woken him. He reached instinctively for his glasses, expecting his hand to reach metal cabinet rather than the warm, breathing body of Simon. The man stirred slightly from his sleep, his head flopping further down Falcon's shoulder so that his chin met the top of Theo's mess of hair. Theo felt himself relax, smiling softly at the contact and burrowing into the warmth between the two brothers' bodies. 

Connor twitched slightly, and Theo was jolted back to himself. He glanced blearily at the two, noticing his glasses beside Connor. He reached over to grab him, flipping them open. Once he had them back on and felt less vulnerable, he looked back up at Falcon, hoping the man hadn't woken any further. 

He felt his breath catch in his throat when he met Connor's warm gaze, fighting the urge to bolt suddenly. Connor's hands danced across his bare arm and Theo shivered despite the blanket covering him. Theo broke the unspoken staring contest that he and Falcon seemed to be having, reaching down to rub the pins and needles out of his feet. 

A soft pair of lips against the top of his spine, over his sunflower tattoos, made him freeze immediately. Falcon didn't appear to notice before Theo choked out 'too much'. He withdrew entirely, flinching back as if burnt. Swallowing thickly, he climbed to his feet, careful not to touch Falcon, but glancing down out of habit. He met Falcon's eyes for the second time that morning, twice as nervous that time around. 'Sorry about that,' Connor mouthed, satisfied with Theo's quick nod of understanding. 

Theo turned on his heel, the cold air nipping at his inked arms. He surveyed the station once, looking for a familiar, dark skinned woman. Hawk noticed him at the same time as he noticed her, and motioned over to a metal door hidden into the wall. She disappeared inside of it, followed by three other Birds, all either had been there for a long amount of time or were in places of position in Bird's Nest and their own countries alike - or, at least, had been in a position of power.

Relinquishing from following instantaneously, Crow tread around the station, murmuring 'hello's' to those already awake. Few Birds asked questions, and Crow was grateful. He fought for words whenever they did, at the same time as making sure he didn't show his unease or lack of knowledge on his face. 

Supposing he had kept the group long enough, Crow made his way over to the door, forcing his jittery nerves to a calm halt. The room was surprisingly brightly lit, three lamps dotted around, one in the middle of a large, foreboding table in the centre of the room. Hawk, Falcon and Sparrow sat at one end - Crow stifled his surprise at the image of the brothers. He hadn't noticed that they'd moved. 

The three Birds he had seen were at the other end of the table. One of them, Kestrel, was a beefy African man. His accent was thick and hard to understand, but he had been a politician before he came (or rather, was kicked out of his own country) England, so he was one of the main deciders when it came to deciding Bird's Nest's next course of action. He was truthful and kind, and Crow had always liked him. The older man smiled politely at Crow but appeared as nervous as him.

Vulture had chosen his own name, which was uncommon for any Bird. He had black, beady eyes and was as much a Disney villain stereotype as he was unliked by everyone but Hawk. Crow respected him but had argued for weeks about allowing him to join their 'council'. The glaring lights shone over his engorged, bald head; he wasn't a looker, to be blunt. 

The last Bird, sitting across from Kestrel was Osprey. She was a lanky, middle-aged, Asian woman, her black hair cropped short and eyes dark hazel. Crow had seen two sides to her; one was usually directed at him, a motherly affection and anxiety. The other, Crow had only seen once, a murderous rage at one of the Birds who had led a group of policemen to the factory. Her back was facing Crow, so he didn't see her expressions whilst she spoke in sign language to Kestrel. Trust him to choose someone who was mute to be a main spokesperson. 

A hush fell over the room once Theo walked in. He took the last seat, between Kestrel and Hawk, a mantra of 'don't cock this up' repeating itself over and over in his head. Hawk glanced sympathetically over at him; for what reason, Crow was not sure. "We can't go back to the factory. They'll be policemen everywhere and there's nothing else there for us to scavenge. Osprey and I went above-groud during the night to scout out the surrounding areas. We found three maps of London, one of Great Britain and two each of Wales, Scotland and Ireland," she began. 

The maps in question were spread out across the table. One showed tourist locations, large, phoney stars dotted over Big Ben and The National Art Gallery among a few. The other two of London were similar, one a standard map, split into quadrants. The other highlighted the train tracks and bus routes all over London. The ones of the other countries in Britain were similar. 

"It's only a matter of time before MI6 look down the tunnel, even if the entrance is collapsed. And when they do, they'll throw every person into jail, whether they're guilty or not. But there doesn't seem to be any suitable places in London or in Great Britain at all that isn't highly guarded, close by or vacant, especially for a group this size."

Crow's head shot up as soon as he realised what Hawk was implying. The others around the table didn't seem shocked by the news, and he caught Vulture snickering silently out of the corner of his eye. "No! You can't split Bird's Nest up-" He leapt up, face flushed with a mixture of anger and betrayal. He flinched when Hawk shouted across at him. 

"There is no Bird's Nest anymore, Crow! I could take a group to Russia, you and me both - we know that place well enough. And Kestrel could go to Africa, Osprey to Japan. We can't send an entire group of 60 odd people to one place nearby without anyone noticing, let alone one halfway across the fucking world!"

The pair had reverted back to Russian, tone raising tremendously in volume. Kestrel stood suddenly, a strong grip over Crow's shoulder startling him to silence. "You two need to calm down. Crow...Hawk is right. We have no other options at this moment in time."

Crow refrained from shrugging off Kestrel's hand, determined not to act like a child to further make himself seem unable to lead Bird's Nest. He sat slowly, locking eyes with Hawk as he did. They seemed to communicate silently for a moment before Osprey leant across the table and tapped at a point on the London map. Crow adjusted his glasses, moving closer at the same time as Hawk. They bumped shoulders, all pretence of hatred forgotten. 

Osprey moved his finger so that the two could read the label: SIS Building. Lambeth, London. The home of British Secret Intelligence: MI6. 

"That woman you were always talking to before the attack... isn't she some sort of big person in MI6. Y'know, someone who could do a better job at protecting us?" sneered Vulture, his eyes flashing dangerously. Crow ignored him. 

"She could give us housing. And jobs too. Tell us everything you know about her, everything that would be important," Hawk encouraged. He glanced up, meeting Osprey's eyes this time. She signed something rapidly to him in short Japanese ASL, a language (of sorts) she'd been teaching him after she came to Bird's Nest. 'Make some up. Don't personal things. Unless important'. Crow signed back his thank you. 

After a half hour of basically a Q and A session, Hawk brought the discussion to a close. "She offered you a job there, didn't she? She said she needed someone with your talents. You could progress to the head of..what did you call it? Q-Branch? And by that time, you could have figured out who authorised those men coming to Bird's Nest and who the survivors were," she implored him. 

Crow felt his teeth set on edge at the idea of a glorified revenge. He felt conflicted. On one hand, he did need a job and M would be able to clear their names and give them homes. On the other hand, he didn't want any part of the espionage world. And on another hand coming out of God knows where, he despised the idea of working so closely with M after her betrayal. 

"I'll think about it," he said, rising out of his seat. "But-"

"I said, I'll think about it, Hawk. I make that decision, not you. I'm going aboveground, I'll come back later with some provisions," he all but hissed, stalking out of the room with as much pride as he could muster amidst his stark flash of fear.


	6. шесть

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who hates everyone who reads his fics and makes them want to yell super loudly because I don't update for over a fucking month? This guyyyy   
>  No, but seriously, I've been in hospital for ages getting some super extensive tests on my ribs after I broke them pretty seriously a few weeks back. That's it. That's my excuse. I apologise profusely.

The air was filled with unintelligible chatter and the smell of cheap perfume and grease. Theo scrunched his nose up instinctively, keeping close to the shadows. Despite the train station having been closed off, the entranceways were still there, in the middle of London. Hopefully, it had become a natural thing for people to ignore young tramps like Theo himself as they fled down to either graffiti or rebel against their parents. Glancing down at his outfit, Theo grimaced - he honestly did look like someone who was about to steal your purse and they shoot a man (granted, this was true, but he had standards with his appearance). 

 

A mother of two tiny children veered away from him with a disdainful look, reminding Theo so much of when he first met Hawk. He smiled at the memory, sliding through the crowd of shoppers bundled up in fleecy coats and jumpers to cover themselves from the bitter cold of the November air. Theo shivered slightly. 

 

He paused in the alcove of a shop window, observing the crowd and shops behind them thoroughly for a moment. Theodore was almost positive that there was an Internet cafe somewhere near the station. A once over of his clothes and the fact he was turned away by the first three shops he entered proved he really wasn’t dressed for the occasion. His jeans were full of rips and stains (and no, not the fashionable kind) and his shirt had seen much better days. 

 

But the fourth shop he traipsed to welcomed him with loving arms - well, rather a dirty look that turned reluctantly pleasant when Theo made sure to show his (stolen) wad of cash. The store itself was well stocked with Theo’s sizes, and he grabbed a few pairs of jeans and shirts to take to the changing room. He didn’t recognise the man in the mirror.

 

Theo’s dark green eyes were dull and veined with red blood spots. The skin underneath was bruised, both by a lack of sleep and knuckle marks. Stark white was the flesh below the thin layer of flush - his skin was sallow and sickly pale. Wincing at his own reflection, Theo turned his head, peeling off his once-white shirt. His tattoos were bright still, gorgeous and lovingly inked. 

 

Theo made quick work dressing, adorning a new pair of black jeans and a grey shirt that was flecked with black and white, surprisingly similar to those of most teenagers on the street. His arms were covered by a long, army-green jacket. Bracing himself, Theo opened the curtain to the changing room and snuck out. He’d been pick-pocketing for so long that he knew how to make himself invisible, ducking past the security guard with his head held high. 

 

He broke into a run as soon as the alarms began blaring. A hand snagged onto his coat, but he tore away, racing through the crowd. He stopped to catch his breath a few streets away, glancing around at the other shoppers. Spotting a map, colourfully decorated with a massive ‘YOU ARE HERE’, Theo shifted his cold hands into his pockets and sidled over. 

Luckily enough, in big letters (in three languages), the map proclaimed that an internet cafe was nearby and it welcomed all nationalities. Theo sighed, glancing at the directions before turning on his new-shoe-clad heel and made his way towards it. 

 

The cafe’s smell hit Theo from a mile away. The thick aroma of coffee and tea hit his nose once he turned onto the street. Fighting back a smile of triumph, Theo slid through the glass door, breathing the scene in. A small man in a tweed suit glanced up as the door opened, saw him and smiled. Theo was puzzled, glancing across at him.

 

The old, gray-haired old man stood, folding up his newspaper. Theo caught sight of large letters for a moment, before the man waved towards him, becoming him over. Theodore swallowed thickly, nervously ambling out of the queue and sat at the red leather booth with the smaller man. 

 

“You’re the one that’s been causing all the trouble with the men upstairs. Not God; I saw the look on your face, Crow, but I simply meant MI6,” he said rather slowly as if speaking to a newborn. His voice had an interesting lilt, but Theo couldn’t identify his accent - he had though Asian at first, due to the man’s dark, oval eyes, but his English seemed too clipped. His teeth were stained yellow with cigarette smoke, and his hair, on closer inspection, wasn’t grey, but a pale, platinum-blonde. 

 

“Do I know you?” he asked, mustering a bored expression, despite how tense he felt, both at the use of his codename, and the fact the man was already so comfortable with him. “No, I don’t suppose you would. Who would you like me to be? You’re clever, of course. You know you can’t have my real name - choose one for me.”

 

Theo arched an eyebrow, licking his chapped lips, before settling into the chair, and said, ‘You look like a Bill.’  
The man across from him, now Bill, he assumed, threw his head back to laugh loudly, startling the customers around them. His crow’s feet deepened with his mirth before he quietened.

 

“I suppose I might as well tell you: I can’t imagine you trying to yell out ‘Bill’ for help when you inevitably almost get killed. My name is Tomas. I work at Q-Branch. And I’m French, I knew you were trying to work it out. You would have gotten there had I not practised hiding my accent.”

 

An off-handed remark caught Theo’s focus - his back straightened of its own accord. The argument with the other members of the council that morning sprung to mind, Hawk insisting he tries to contact M to get work there. And now, a young man who was offering the job on a silver platter. In subtext, at least. 

 

“I didn’t realise internet cafes could lead to me screaming to you for help. It would guarantee quite miraculous circumstances,” he retorted, smirking slightly at Tomas’ excited reaction. 

 

“The higher ups wanted me to come to you and ask if you wanted a job working at Q-Branch. I mean, I tried not to get too animated, so as not to spook you off, and Lord knows you would be after what’s happened. I love your work, really. The polymorphic engines? Absolute genius!” The aged man suddenly seemed to be like a child on Christmas morning. Theo chuckled slightly, embarrassed.

 

“I’ll have to think about it... wait, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” The familiar feeling of panic and paranoia twisted his stomach as certain faces flashed across his mind. Tomas shook his head, disbelieving. “You mean, you don’t know? It’s the SIS building, someone...someone’s blown it up. I mean, that’s exactly why we need you now because Q died and although I’m R, it’s not like I can run the branch, and besides-”

 

Theo had already stood, breathing quick and frantic. “Do you know M’s address? Do you, Tomas?!” he questioned, twitching as he always did before he had a panic attack. “It’s classified information, I can’t-”

 

Theo grabbed the babbling man by the lapels of his blazer, dragging him towards him. “Tomas, tell me.” His voice was a deep, angry growl, and Tomas squeaked, listing the address just as the shop manager began to walk over to them. Theo dropped the older man, unbothered at his own frazzled appearance, and bolted out of the shop.

 

The directions repeated themselves over and over in his head, a constant murmur to remind him that M could be hurt, M could be dead for all he knew, and the last time he’d spoken to her was to tell her that Bird’s Nest’s blood was on her hands. Theo’s heart pounded against his ribcage, and his breath came out in short gasps as he rounded the corner on Black Prince Road and scanning the house numbers frantically, in search of 13. 

 

Ignoring the appearance of the rather plain house, and features that he would usually spend hours poring over (like the minuscule flecks of blood on the dark blue paint of the door, or the tiny red light on a security camera that faced in the opposite direction of the door itself) , he raced up to the front step, knocking fiercely on the door for a minute or two, receiving no response. The door was locked and he couldn’t risk picking it in the open. 

 

Number 13. Unlucky for some. 

 

Glancing at the other houses on the street, Theo skulked around to the back garden of M’s home, vaulting the fence with a practised ease. He pulled his hood up quickly, cautious of other security cameras like the one at the front door that he definitely had not taken note of (spoilers: he had and reminded himself to remove any security footage that he could as soon as he actually made it inside). 

 

The gnawing feeling of utter fear still resided in his stomach as he slid to the back of the building. There was surprisingly no extensive security there, and Theo easily picked the lock of the back door, sliding into the kitchen. The lights were off, but Theo could still see clearly although the blinds were shut. Everything was smart and proper, with no silverware left out and the dish-clothes neatly folded. Theo closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to catch a single sound of M’s whereabouts. 

 

Unfortunately, the house was deadly silent. Theo opened his eyes again, huffing out a short breath. He was slightly less worried now, as the place still looked lived-in. It had only been a few hours since the explosion, so he didn’t allow his hopes to flourish as much. Perhaps they just hadn’t found the body. 

 

There was no one upstairs either. The bed was made, the shelves were dust-free and everything looked normal and perfect and how could M be dead? Theo sat heavily, a ringing in his ears. His breathing quickened and his mind short-circuited because he simply couldn't believe that M wouldn’t be there anymore. 

 

His eyes were suddenly very wet and his sight blurred. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he sobbed silently, whimpering just as quietly. His shoulders shook for at least an hour, his shirt wet with salted tears. Theo’s throat felt constricted and dry. Exhaustion weighed over his features and his shoulders dropped. 

M found him asleep on her own bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I did put the first chapter up here a while ago, and it had a pretty good response, but I chickened out and deleted it. This is essentially the same story.


End file.
